Deus Ex Machina
by Shanrock
Summary: One man's greatest achievement becomes the rest of humanity's darkest horror. Is it love or insanity that allows him to accept the suffering?
1. Chapter 1

_Is it wrong to love someone, though they've done things completely and utterly unimaginable, beyond belief? Because they thought that they were doing the right thing, though their actions were horrible?_

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><p><strong>DEUS EX MACHINA - CHAPTER 1<strong>

"It was my lifelong ambition," I muttered to the police offer, a paradox of pride and shame pressing heavily on my voice.

I peered through the greying thickets of hair that fell over my face, casting my gaze down at the cold steel table I'd been seated at. As I tucked my bearded chin against the stained fabric of my clothes, my eyes wandered over the hands I no longer knew as mine, bound in heavy iron chains and secured to its metal brethren. The skin had long since blistered into a protective coating of scabs against the rough metal, an ever-present reminder of my thus far lengthy imprisonment.

The officer continued to stare at me with her pitiless eyes. I knew she loathed me for what I'd done. Her narrowed green irises betrayed that much. And more. She wanted to see me as just another criminal, but I knew she couldn't. I was special. Almost personal to her, I sensed. As if my actions had dredged up a powerful fear inside her. One that she'd experienced in her youth, perhaps. That look in her eyes was intriguing… alluring…

"Why would you dedicate your life to something as… abhorrent as that?" she asked in disgust, her mouth contorted into an expression of obvious scorn.

A soft chuckle escaped my lips, making my captor recoil in her seat. Abhorrent was a word that had run rampant through my mind these last few days. Solitary did indeed give one ample time to consider their situation, and I'd come to the conclusion that these lesser folk would see my work as such. How little they knew. How little _she _knew. Then again, how could she understand? Only a mother can comprehend what motivates their child to act. The officer's high, robust bosom certainly left no questions as to how she was yet to produce an offspring. It gave me comfort, knowing that her antagonism was inspired by her ignorance.

"Abhorrent?" I rasped, my eyes never moving from the fixation on my cuffs. "Tell me officer—"

"Answer my question," she growled, venom evident in her words. A smirk wound its way onto my lips this time, for beneath her façade of authority I could hear a fearful tremor in her undertone. She wanted to know why, and yet she knew the knowledge would frighten her.

_What a brave woman… _I thought, silently repeating that wavering pitch in an endless echo within my mind. I found it arousing that she was making such an effort to talk to me, even though I inspired such repulsion. "Why?" I repeated hollowly. "Because it has always been man's dream to play God, my dear. To create life from where there once was none. Unlike those of your gender," I glanced up at the officer's uniformed chest with a jerk of my forehead, "I cannot create life through conventional biological means. So I do what I can with what I have."

"You're sick, that's what you are," she responded coldly, and just like that the fear in her voice had vanished. To my displeasure, my arousal also dissipated in an instant, and my chin fell back onto my chest, the fetid smell of my urine-stained rags clogging up my nostrils once more. "If a child was what you wanted, there are any number of places—"

An earnest laugh escaped me, and her lips went still once more. Once again, she had completely failed to understand me. "I _did _create a child, you ignorant slut."

"Mind your tongue!" she shrieked, jumping to her feet and bringing her baton crashing down upon my arms. Her efforts were wasted; I didn't even feel it. My body had long since forgotten how to register something as flawed and useless as pain.

"You asked me why I would do it, and yet you lash out for expressing an answer," I seethed in one long ragged breath. Through the haze of my decrepit fringe I could see her grip tighten around her baton's handle.

"I _lash out _at your disrespect, you filthy, unrepentant psychopath."

"Disrespect? Exactly what good is respect going to do me in this situation, officer? I know full well that you intend to hold me here until the day I die. And you're too much of a coward to kill me for being disrespectful," I spat the last word with as much contempt as my body could muster, "so you might as well save your sweet breath for something more constructive."

I could see the muscle twitching in her jaw as I spoke, her brow furrowed in rage. God, she was so easy to read. No control over her emotions whatsoever. Reluctantly, she lifted her baton off my forearms, resuming her seat and glaring at me with daggers for eyes.

"Why did you create this… _child _of yours?" she pressed, shuddering in unrestrained revulsion at the very notion.

"As I said earlier, I can't reproduce, so this was the only way for me to create life," I explained once more, though I knew that she wanted a different answer. She didn't want my biological justification; I'd already given her that. She wanted the personal reason.

"You know what I meant," the officer said, placing her hands on the table in a vain attempt at intimidation.

I wanted to tell her why, to see her reaction to my madness. But I wanted to see her more often, and I knew she would stop interrogating me if I told her flat out. Seeing that uniform of hers clinging to her curvy body was easily the highlight of my day, and I wanted to prolong that privilege as long as I could.

"Then allow me to resubmit something else I said earlier," I said, shifting in the rickety chair I'd long since stopped feeling. My natural posture had degraded severely during my incarceration, forcing me to slouch whenever I was presented with seating. "Humans want to play God. It's in our nature to want to _be _God. And by that, I mean that we all want to be the one with the most power. Wouldn't you agree, officer?" I asked, licking my cracked lips.

"No, I wouldn't," she refuted firmly, frowning. "I've heard hundreds of lunatics like you use that reason as some sort of twisted justification for your actions, and it never slides with me. And you wanna know why? It's because I know there are people who don't want that. Some people – good people – only want what's best for those they care for. But then again, I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand," she added, a trace of a smirk playing on her lips.

I grinned along with her, recognising the psychological technique she was employing. As I predicted, that smirk of hers wavered and wobbled for a fraction of a second before she regained her composure. She knew no such people. She was trying to anger me. It's strange, I suppose, how a few weeks in solitary confinement can toughen your mind to such manipulation. It had always been said that you were supposed to "lose your mind" in these circumstances…

"You don't want more power?" was the question I posed to the officer this time. "You're content to merely spend your days eking out a paycheque interrogating lowlife scumbags like myself, are you? Doing the dirty work for some lazy-ass superior who feels the need to subject you to day after day of interactions with the dregs of society… psychopaths and murderers and freaks of nature who do more to violate humanity than the charity of thousands… Well I've got news for you, pretty lady…" I wagged my finger at her despite not being able to lift my wrist from the desk, "You spend enough time around us… and you're gonna _become _one of us."

"Good luck with that," she said coolly. "But now, I want you to actually answer my question for once, instead of rambling on with philosophical bullshit."

"Very well," I conceded, resigning myself to indulging her in a fraction of my reasoning. Though I did take note of her impatience and layered intelligence for subsequent meetings before I next opened my mouth. "My child is a creation of power, as you've no doubt experienced by now," I explained, taking care to stifle the conflicting emotions I was feeling. "I had intended to… teach my child how to use that power, in order to better direct it into a form more suitable to our preferences."

"So in short, you wanted to use your "child" as nothing more than a hired goon, to do all _your _dirty work?"

Her words immediately put a damper on my mood. "…It would do you good not to insinuate that we had that kind of relationship, _officer_," I growled, not bothering to mask the malice in my words.

"Is that a threat?"

"It's advice," I answered sourly. "We both know quite well that I am in neither the position, nor condition to challenge your authority. I may be steadfast in my child's defence, but I am not an idiot."

"Then why shouldn't I be insinuating that, hm?" she asked, using the condescending tone an adult used when talking to a small child. Although the notion irritated me to some extent, my knowledge on psychology far outstripped hers, and I did not fall for her trick.

"Because as difficult as it is for you to believe, I do care deeply for my child, even though it is not directly my own flesh and blood," I said in a level voice, not the least bit surprised by her lack of understanding thus far. "As a person who has no children, you would not understand why I love my child so, so don't bother asking _that _question."

The officer folded her arms over her ample chest, holding me in that penetrating gaze of hers. I refused her the benefit of eye contact. I wasn't afraid of her powers of deduction; so far they had proved ineffective in eliciting a completely honest explanation of my actions. She was simply unworthy of a glimpse at my own turbulent emotions.

And they were quite turbulent, indeed. On the one hand, I feel immense pride in my child, both in its power and its loyalty. It had proven itself worthy of more than just existence, surpassing its inferior, deceased predecessors. And though I would have loved it unconditionally in either scenario, my affections felt validated when its tests showed me the extent to which it could operate. What had impressed and warmed me the most was its ability to learn from its surroundings. For all my years of studying psychology and interactions, it seemed to know all these fields instinctively. It could hone in on the weaknesses of whatever was placed before it and exploit them to a degree far beyond what I could ever dream to. And for that, I was so proud of it.

Yet… in contrast to my pride, I feel an overwhelming sense of shame in my own limitations. I was too focused on its gifts and innate power that I neglected to teach it control and moderation. I failed to bestow it with the reasoning skills that made humans so unique. But most of all, I failed to learn its motivations. Thus, it had been left a creature of instinct, guided by a force that in my haste to improve, I had not properly understood.

And so, my child had rebelled, disregarding my pleas for it to teach me its thoughts. It was in the few days after it left that I began to understand where I had gone so horribly wrong with its upbringing. Our relationship had been strained too heavily by my eagerness to implement my knowledge, and my unwillingness to learn from it. But I do not fault my child for acting the way it did. I know that the blame lies with me, both for its insurrection, and for the trail of destruction it leaves behind as it tries to understand.

_I'm sorry… my child…_

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><p><strong>This will probably end up turning into a short series over time, if my muse is nice. <strong>**That being said, updates will be sparing and sporadic at best, so don't be too disappointed if I take my time with the next chapter.**

**Hope you enjoyed this opening chapter, and here's hoping for more to come~**


	2. Chapter 2

_I think we're all mentally ill; those of us outside the asylums only hide it a little better, and maybe not that much better after all._

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><p><strong>DEUS EX MACHINA - CHAPTER 2<strong>

Sometimes I wonder if I should be the one doing this, sifting through the trash heaped in this room to find the answers. It's by no means a pleasant job. Some days make me want to abandon the oath I swore at the academy, to just beat these _monsters_ to within an inch of their life for what they've done. They make it so easy for that desire to surface. _Especially remorseless psychos like this one, _I mused, taking in the wretched sight of the man across the table.

He'd been here the best part of seven weeks, and his appearance showed clear signs of imprisonment. The tattered rags splayed across his chest. His wiry hair stained with grey, greasy and falling over his soulless eyes. That intolerable smell emanating from him. All solid reminders of the punishment he'd been subjected to.

Punishment? In my opinion, he hadn't even begun to suffer. That's the main reason I keep this one alive. Not because of the oath I took. No, I'd long since decided my oath was worthless when dealing with this man. I revoked that oath the moment I'd failed to get him the death penalty. But my supervisor intervened, telling me we needed information. Reluctantly, I agreed to supply it, because it'd give me plenty of time to do what I most wanted.

I wanted to torture him until he broke. I want to make him feel the anguish of every single person he and his abomination have wronged. Make him cry with the knowledge that he may have plunged our entire region into a state of emergency. That creation of his was a violation of the natural order of things. And when my oath wavered, I traded it in for a new one; to not stop until I made him feel that pain.

But first I needed to get inside his head, and understand what he thought. So far, he'd adamantly told me I wouldn't understand. Indeed, thus far, I hadn't. I reckon it's time for a new angle.

"Does it have a name?" I asked, trying for a more sympathetic approach.

"When it was created, my child's designation was GXL-038—"

"Don't give me that designation crap," I growled, a tad frustrated by his continued refusal to answer a question directly. "When you talked about its power, you sounded proud of it," I explained, this time getting a reaction out of him. He bowed his head even further into his chest. A defensive sign. He hadn't been expecting me to pick on the tone of his voice. Oh how self-important a view he held of himself…

"When you're proud of something to the level you obviously are for your "child", you give it a name. I'm not stupid, I know how these things work. _What was its name_?" I pressed, satisfaction brimming at my lips as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat again. So far he'd been dictating the flow of the conversation, but now it was my turn to take the reins.

He stayed silent for several long seconds. I knew he was weighing up his options, the pros and cons of revealing that piece of information. Its name was personal to him, and he didn't want to share the privilege with anyone else. In the end, that belief all boiled down to a false sense of importance. He didn't want to tell me because he didn't see me worthy enough of basking in the bond that was their relationship. Or some high-and-mighty crap like that.

"Genesect," he finally said, his words thick with spite, like he was issuing a curse on me. He'd already cursed me, though. Me, along with every other living thing in the region when he made that monstrosity of his, this 'Genesect'.

"Genesect?" I repeated, my brow furrowed in concentration. After a moment of initial confusion, I realised that his self-importance was again a mitigating factor in something as simple as its name. Undoubtedly, it drew from _'genesis'_, meaning beginning, a clear indicator that he felt his "child's" creation could be compared to that of the universe's. So smug.

I knew from instinct that he wouldn't answer me if I tried to question him over this. A different approach was needed to elicit why he'd chosen that name. That information in of itself would provide a substantial insight as to his motivations and mindset concerning the creature.

"I take it the 'sect' in its name is taken from 'insect', hence its appearance, no?" I asked a few seconds later.

"Oh, how clever of you," he smirked, and I could see the yellowing teeth through his fringe as he cracked a smile. "But I'm afraid I'm not as self-important as you may think, officer."

"When did I say anything about self-importance?" I asked, folding my arms over my chest and staring at him with a raised eyebrow. He was clutching at straws, and I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of thinking he'd figured me out. That being said, I was surprised he'd jumped to that conclusion.

"Once again, I'm not stupid," he grumbled through parched lips. A flick of his head to part the fringe away from his eyes and he continued, locking eyes with my own. "You want to provoke me into a correction by stating a false assumption as close to fact. That's why you paused for so long; you were looking for a way to subtly insult my intelligence by concealing it within an innocent question, thereby provoking a response in defence of my intellect that would reveal some ulterior motive of mine.

"Unfortunately for you, your false assumption is in fact, correct," he explained. The interrogation room's light flickered for a moment, and I recoiled an inch at the sight of his eyes pulsing in the contrasting light. He looked positively demonic in that moment, like a zealot intent on reviving the devil himself. "My child's name was inspired by the process by which it was born, not by the ramifications of its birth. I created it from the genes of an extinct insect, hence its name being a portmanteau of those words; gene and insect. It is _not_, as you mistakenly believed, derived from genesis."

"I di—"

"Why did you think I would name my child so, officer?" he continued, voice filling with an ominous undertone, as if the words he spoke weren't his. "Because it is the pinnacle of what humanity as a species can provide back to world? Because surely I must feel so proud of my child as to give it a name befitting its existence? Or maybe," his voice swelled, echoing off the steel walls of the room like an omniscient being, "because you, officer, feel the need to be validated by your actions as an enforcer of the law? You don't _want_ to be right when you delve into my motivations and draw conclusions from them, attempting to pre-emptively surmise the answer to a question you haven't yet asked. You _need _to be right. You _need _that kind of validation. You—"

"That's enough!" I yelled, jumping to my feet and bringing my baton down upon his arms again with a loud crash. How dare he insinuate these kinds of things? I don't _need _validation or anything like it from this outcast!

He didn't so much as flinch at the force of my strike. Just sitting there, with those bastard eyes of his staring at the baton as it trembled in my shaking hands. I could hear his breathing change as he saw it, too. I silently cursed his entire existence in my head as I withdrew, stowing the baton back on my belt and falling back into my seat. Why am I letting him get the better of me like this?

"You shouldn't let your emotions interfere with your ridiculous sense of justice… _officer_," he muttered hollowly, as motionless as the table between us. I felt my jaw twitch involuntarily. No doubt he was trying to bait me into another attack. He'd been building to it this whole interrogation. But then a thought occurred to me.

Why? Why did he feel the need to provoke me? He was a deranged psychopath, but he still acted as if bound by logic and purpose. What was this purpose?

These questions spun like a centrifuge around my mind, until they all blurred into the same thought and brought me no closer to coherence. Several long seconds of silence crept in, the complete stasis of the room punctuated only by the overhead flickering of the room's light source. Each buzzing flicker brought with it a new, pervasive thought, yet minutes had passed before an acceptable thought presented itself.

He felt conflicted. Of that there was no doubt. Unmistakeable pride laced his words; I'd already come to that conclusion. His comments had always carried a second undertone with them, one at odds with that pride. The question now burning away at my mind was what that undertone was.

Sorrow? No, he'd never shown so much as a hint of it. He was proud of his creation's power, and although he did not relish the hundreds of deaths I'd brought to his attention, he was at most indifferent to them. Hatred? Again, no. I could tell from that same proud tone, and the way he spoke of it, that he was undyingly enamoured with it. Regret? That was ridiculous. He'd shown numerous times a complete lack of remorse or regret over what his creation had done.

But what about regret of inaction?

That question was something I'd dealt with many times during my occupation as a law enforcer. Of the dozens of hardened criminals and other scum of this earth I'd interrogated, not one had failed to reveal a decision they'd regretted. I'd come to learn that they all wished for a second chance to carry out their crimes, so as to alleviate the troubles they'd created for themselves. This man was no different, but I had to discover the decision that was the source of his regret.

"Why did you set it free?" I asked finally, my voice quiet from lack of use. An inward smirk roared up inside me as his face twitched momentarily. The expression was easily recognisable by the upwards flick of the corner of his nose. It was scorn.

Naturally, he refused me an answer.

But his silence told me so much more than that, and I could feel the fire of that advantage licking up from within me. Rather than sidetrack me with pointless chatter that detracted from my original question, he had outright boycotted my query.

At last, I'd found the open wound that was plaguing his mind.

"You didn't set it free, did you?" were my next words, and I spoke them with the utmost caution, not daring to betray the welling sense of victory brimming at my lips.

A grumbled response drifted to my ears from his downturned face, but otherwise he was as static as ever. I fought down a flare of frustration at the indecipherable answer. He'd just confessed a crucial answer, and yet I was still no closer to actually understanding the simple words that had escaped him. How I despised when this happened…

"What makes you say that?" he whispered, echoes of a sinister laugh at the corners of his mouth. I couldn't help but raise a surprised eyebrow. "Sorry to disappoint you, but your current predicament isn't Frankenstein transferred from literature to life."

"Then what is it?" I pressed sardonically, knowing his confidence and self-importance would run rampant in his words.

And so his laughter bubbled to the surface, a slow monotonic staccato that made my skin crawl with revulsion. He finally raised his head to look at me. His bulging, bloodshot eyes locked onto mine, grinning like his face had been carved into that expression by a near-sighted butcher. I met the crazed stare with unwavering steel in my own, even as my mind told me to eradicate both the look and the man himself.

"Just another thing completely outside of your control, corroding your authority out from beneath you," he answered, the cruel delight unmistakeable in his voice as his frenzied laughter began to crescendo. "And you cling so foolishly to the antidote, never realising that it is such, and never daring to believe that its administration is the only option you have left!"

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><p><strong>Sorry it took so long for this second chapter to be written, but <em>Crown <em>took precedence until recently. That being said, I do hope you enjoyed this second chapter, since a lot of effort went into it.**

**Until next time, keep reading, and don't forget to review~**


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